


𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐑 - (game of thrones oc)

by stxnesxng



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF, Adventure, Dragon Queen - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Game of Thrones - Freeform, GoT, House Targaryen, Queen - Freeform, Romance, Targaryen, a song of ice and fire - Freeform, khaleesi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22601734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stxnesxng/pseuds/stxnesxng
Summary: " I am Alyna Stonesong, of House Targaryen! Of the Blood of Old Valyria, I am the Dragon's Daughter! "Alyna Targaryen has never known the sweet shores of Westeros. She has spent her days in Braavos, living life like a princess in debt to the Sealord.What will happen when destiny takes her to the fabled lands of Asshai? What will happen when she decides to take back what is rightfully hers; the Iron Throne?🖤 all rights to george rr martin and hbo!
Relationships: OC X OC, OC x Jon Snow, OC x Princess of Dorne
Kudos: 1





	1. ACT ONE: Home p.1

**Author's Note:**

> greetings all! claire here -  
> i just wanted to take a quick moment to welcome you all to my new fan fic!
> 
> i have decided to keep the parts rather small for now, but if you would all rather see longer parts then make sure to let me know and i’ll gladly make it happen! ❤️

_Across the Narrow Sea_

_"Alyna? Alyna?"_ called a gruff voice, the words had a wet and slick accent and bounced along a cobbled corridor, the stone walls carrying the sound through a thick wooden door adorned with a dragon head knocker. The door was made from a dark and solid wood, imported from the Black Forests of Qohor, it's soft and velvety surface made that clear; the knocker was made from fine steel and the dragon's eyes were two gleaming rubies.

_"Come in,"_ spoke a small and meek voice, the voice of a young girl whom had just spent the first few hours of her day gazing longingly from her balcony and across the Narrow Sea which seemed as mystical as the Jade Sea to the girl, for it was the same sea that her ancestors crossed to land on the island of Dragonstone, even though it was just a short distance from the place the girl was living in. It was a marvel of architecture, a palace truly fit for a man of such standing as the Sealord of Braavos. Alyna Stonesong turned to face the large dark wooden door which kept her hidden from the rest of the world, the golden doorknob twisted and turned before allowing whoever stood opposite enter into the large and spacious room.

_"I missed you at breakfast this morning, princess,"_ spoke Lord Jynos, Sealord of Braavos. He was a peculiar man with a gruff and hoarse voice, hair life hammered steel and donning robes of black and white. He wore three rings on his left hand and two of his right, they were embellished with symbols from the religion of the moonsingers — the women who led Valyrian slaves to the place where Braavos now stands and flourishes.

_"I apologise, my lord,"_ Alyna said in a polite yet pathetic voice, her pale blue eyes shifting away from the man for fear that she may disappoint the man due to her absence at their regularly scheduled breakfasts. Jynos was so very busy, he rarely got to see Alyna and so those moments every morning were a treasure to him — he would never admit it, but he did love the girl as though she was his own. _"I seem to have lost my appetite this morning..."_ Alyna said, a blatant lie for she had feasted on figs and dates almost as soon as she had woken. Jynos had already figured this out, for he was the one who had ordered them to her room.

The Sealord stared at an empty plate which he had once seen stacked with mesmerising fruits from all over the Free Cities, and a glass of deliciously cool wine he had sent up with them. He sighed, deciding not to follow up on his suspicions. Instead he chose to change the subject to more pressing matters, _"Princess, I know you do not want to marry the Archon,"_ he started in the common tongue shot with a Braavosi accent. _"You agreed to the proposal, but I know in your heart it is not what you want,"_ he said as he placed a hand on the Targaryen's pale hands. _"This marriage with the Archon will be a great service to Braavos. I will never forget this favour,"_ said Jynos in his usual gruff voice with a comforting smile.

While it was true that she did not want to marry the Archon, to be shipped off from the only home she had ever known to Tyrosh, but the shy young girl knew nothing else to say but yes. She wasn't brave enough to deny such a man, she wasn't brave enough to deny someone as important to her as Lord Jynos. Instead, she went along with anything and everything; hoping to please as many people as she could. She hadn't wanted much throughout her life, nothing much more than a roof over her head and food on the table — the only thing she could truly remember longing for was her home, the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.

Alyna would sometimes gaze out across the Narrow Sea and sometimes she could swear to see the glistening shores of the Sunset Kingdoms. The land of iron men, of brave knights — and the men who cast down her family and stole her father's throne. She was just a quickening in her mother's womb when war came to Dragonstone, her mother fled to Braavos to escape the Usurper's dogs and to find a safe place to give birth to her first and only daughter. Her mother, Queen Rhaena the Good, known for her beauty and fairness, had died on the birthing bed. The Sealord Jynos had taken in the infant Alyna and raised him on his own.

The Targaryen girl wished for nothing more than to know the love of her mother, to know the sweetness of her affections and the soft feel of her skin in a warm embrace. But she would never have those things, for her mother had perished to bring her into the world — a burden and guilt that Alyna dealt with every day. Every night she would dream of her mother, of Dragonstone, and _of dragons._

She would dream that she was engulfed in roaring flames, that her skin would blacken before falling off the bone as char and ash, only to be replaced by a new skin with reinvigorated power and a drive to take back her father's throne. But it was all just the dreams of a stupid young girl, the dreams of a girl who was destined to spend the rest of her days on an island so close to Westeros, but so far all the same.


	2. Home p.2

Alyna Targaryen merely nodded a pathetic nod, once again affirming her consent to the cursed marriage that she truly wanted no part in. She knew that somehow, some way, her continued lie would come back to punish her. She was the Blood of the Dragon, or so the Sealord had told her ever since she was a girl. She didn't feel like a dragon, she felt like a frightened whelp clawing and scratching just to keep her head above water — she knew that she was the last Targaryen, the final scion of Old Valyria and the Targaryen Dynasty; to be married off to an Archon all the way down in Tyrosh did not seem like a fitting life for someone with the overbearing weight of a thousand kings and queens and princes and princesses riding on her shoulders.

_"I know how much this means to you, my lord,"_ Alyna said in a subdued and hushed voice, her platinum white hair flowed behind her as a subtle wind crept in through the balcony. The Targaryen's baby blue eyes seemed like pools of deliciously cool ocean water, any onlooker would dream to be able to swim and play and relax in their depths. She was a prime example of the beauty of Old Valyria, in Westeros she would be among the last of her kind, but in Essos that was not the case; dragonseed were legion in the Free Cities. If Alyna had the powers of sorcerers of old, she would have gladly swapped their numbers with those of dragons — to even see a dragon would be the paramount moment of her life, to hear their song and feel the beat of their wings would melt her heart and bring shine to her eyes.

But the dragons were gone. Her brother Aerar had been the Last Dragon, the last true King of the Seven Kingdoms before the Baratheon Usurper and his dogs had taken it from him, they struck down her father and forced her mother to flee as her other brother, Valarr stayed to fight. So many men had died in the War of the Usurper, so many men must have loathed her father so that they would have taken up arms against him in such numbers. It caused a pit to form in her stomach, and as she stood from her seat the Sealord Jynos had bid her farewell and taken his leave so as to begin his daily governance of Braavos.

Now, Alyna was all alone with her thoughts. She knew that the Blood of the Dragon should not fear something so trivial as a political marriage, but nor should they waste their lives away in Tyrosh or any other of the Free Cities for that matter. For all her knowledge on what the Blood of Old Valyria should and should not do, she had not the courage to act upon it. Instead, she lay down on the soft quilted sheets and feathery pillows provided to her — the sheets embroidered with dragons and roses did little to soothe her dreams, for she had the same recurring nightmare as she always had.

She was alone save for a few unfamiliar shadows, she was shackled from head to toe, drifting towards a city engulfed in total and utter darkness. It was clearly Asshai, the quick sunrise allowed her to see queer and peculiar shadows and stirrings — she could have sworn to have heard the shrill song and cries of a dragon cascading down from the Shadow Lands, the faint outline of the great beasts danced through the twilight. Their cries pierced her very being, their song made her heart melt and her eyes shine. She felt like a dragon, but it was only a dream, only a figment of a young girl's exhausted imagination.

The Targaryen wanted to sail sail away, to places yet unseen, to Yi-Ti and Qarth, to Marahai and Leng, to Mossovy and Nefer. She wanted dragons. She wanted to soar far above the clouds and stretch out to the ends of the earth. She wanted to escape the dull and frightened persona she had trapped herself within, she wanted to escape the men she had surrounded herself with, and the queer green and pink hairstyles she would be surrounded by if she married the Lord from Tyrosh. She was Alyna Stonesong, she was the Blood of the Dragon, and the dragon did not wait for their lives to be played out for someone else.


	3. Home p.3

Alyna did not move the remainder of the day, at least not much. She had elected that her last few days of freedom were to be spent in comfortable squalor, rarely moving from her silk sheets and furs except to nibble on a fig or two, or to take a sip of wine. The Targaryen had slept for most of the day, and her slumber crept into the cool night that had taken the city by surprise. The Sealord had retired to his chambers, as did most of his household and civic guardsmen — there were a few soldiers patrolling the large palace, but Alyna was the only one awake with no real reason to be.

It was the dawn of a new day, the sun was just beginning to stretch out from the east, the clouds scattering to make room for its glow. Alyna donned on her dusty sandals and draped herself in a fine silk, she had always loved her finery but it did nothing to keep her warm on cool days such as this. Thoughts ran through the young girl's head, she didn't know how she was going to escape this cursed marriage that would see her spend her days as a plaything of a man with ludicrously coloured hair of green and pink. She did not want that at all.

I am the Blood of the Dragon, Alyna told herself as she tried to stay calm. The Dragon does not sit idly by as others lived her life for her, she thought as she took to her feet and gazed across her balcony and out towards the Narrow Sea. Alyna wished for nothing more but to see the Red Keep of King's Landing, to see the Iron Throne her father sat upon. She only wished she had the courage to confront the Sealord about her wants and desires, but she didn't have it in her to disappoint him in any way. She did not want to disappoint the man who had raised her as his own when her mother passed away, almost as much as she did not want to marry the Archon of Tyrosh, and so she had one option. To run. The Targaryen girl had felt on the run her whole life, she was far from home and adopting new aliases and fake names so that she may escape the Usurper and his hired knives, none more than the Small Council knew that she had escaped death that night on Dragonstone.

As much as it pained her to leave, she had to. She grabbed what little possessions she herself owned, a small ring and a few golden coins from a cedar chest at the foot of her bed. Alyna donned a silk cloak and hid her silver-golden hair with a hood, her features hidden as she stalked her way through the halls of the palace. She passed a few of the civic guard, they asked her a few questions pertaining to her destination so early in the morning but Alyna had made some lies up on the spot, her lip quivering as she did so. She thought of Jynos and what he may think when he woke to find her gone, but she could not turn back, not now. She couldn't beg to be released from her promise, the dragon does not beg.

Alyna found herself traversing a strange and alien city, the like of which she was rarely given a chance to see from her secluded balcony facing away from the main city. Whenever she did traverse the limits of Braavos, she was almost always with Jynos and his guard, in some palanquin pulled by oxen or in a gondola streaming down the rivers and pools throughout the city. Alyna's sandals made slight clicks upon the cobbled stone streets, the dusty air and rusted bricks produced a strange smell that was alien to the perfumed palace Alyna had known all her life.

Braavos was a city unlike any other, a city where all gods were welcome and praised — the Seven of Westeros, the Old Gods of the North, the Drowned God of the Iron Islands, the Lord of Light, the Weeping Lady of Lys and even the Cult of Starry Wisdom all found welcome in the city of Braavos. Alyna kept her face hidden as she passed their many temples, their worshippers were already up and ready to preach their gods' message and draw in their respective crowds. The Targaryen had never really kept to any gods, she had occasionally visited the Sept-Beyond-The-Sea to learn of the gods of her country, the men who preach their word and those who worship them.

Alyna had met so many men and women of the Seven Kingdoms in this sept, their songs and stories had filled her childish mind with wonder and awe. She heard tales of what happened when her ancestors first landed in Westeros, how they forged it into one country under one ruler; Aegon the Conqueror, Aegon the Dragon. He had managed to bring all Seven Kingdoms to heel, they threw their swords before him and his sister-wives; their dragonfire forged the Iron Throne and cast the Seven Kingdoms into one. And now, their established dynasty rested upon the shoulders of Alyna Targaryen. The thought made her sick.

It wasn't long before the city began to roar to life as merchant and insurers hurried their stalls and paperwork out into the busy markets to await the influx of buyers and sellers who gathered their daily. Alyna had been to the markets just once in her life, the smells of clams and cod, of meat and mead, of gold and steel never left her memory. As she walked through the markets the familiar scents shot memories back to life, she could see Lord Jynos with hair black as coal and a thick beard of similar colour. Alyna was barely six years old, she had been brought to the markets with Jynos and his civic guard — they bought food and jewellery and clothes, some of those items she still had to this day.

Alyna turned to state to the Sealord's palace that loomed longingly in the distance, the guard towers and window panes drew her to the past in which she could remember climbing the myriad steps with her Lord Jynos and staring out across the vast city of Braavos. The people had rumoured that she was the Sealord's bastard daughter to a paramour of Lys, none knew who she truly was. A Targaryen of Dragonstone, the last heir to King Aerys the Cruel. That made her a queen, she thought. She didn't feel like a queen.

When a few hours had passed and the sun was bright in the sky, Alyna had wandered longingly around the docks of Braavos. She could hear mysterious tongues and saw relics of the past, the common tongue of the Seven Kingdoms rang sweetly in her ears. The wet Valyrian tongue danced in her ears, it sounded like that of Norvos or Tyrosh — especially feminine. It was a caravan of traders, they were preparing to set off from Braavos and back to their respective homelands with the goods and gold they had acquired over the past few months.

Alyna saw an opportunity. Could she manage to work her way into the company of one of these Merchant Princes, serving as a cupbearer or handmaiden. It would not be a good life but perhaps she could eventually earn enough coin to buy herself a space on a ship sailing to King's Landing — the coin she took from the Sealord's Palace would not be enough. If she returned to King's Landing, perhaps she could find some noble lord who would take her in, she could finally live in her homeland.

Alyna had been trailing the caravan as they made their way out of the city, she was on foot as some were too, while others rode by cart or on horseback. She had managed to go unnoticed for a slight while before the wealthiest man among them had discovered her and she had told him of her intentions to find a job and make some coin. He had agreed to bring her into his employ, if only due to her Valyrian beauty...


	4. The Great Grass Sea

_Crack!_ came the whip, burning red serpentine marks into the pale and milky flesh of Alyna Targaryen. It was not the whip of a Merchant Prince unhappy with his serving girl's performance, but of a Dothraki Horselord, a lumbering man with copper skin and almond eyes. The man was bloodrider to the Great Khal Tommo, he was the whip to his khal. _"Move whore,"_ the whip barked in the sharp Dothraki tongue. Alyna couldn't understand a word of what the man had said to her but she knew exactly what he had meant. The Targaryen had been walking for days on end and she had begun to grow blisters on the soles of her feet, she felt as though she could collapse at any moment. If she did, she would most likely be strung at the end of some cart and dragged all the way down to the flesh markets in Meereen or Astapor.

Alyna had been a slave of the khalasar for about three weeks by now. The Merchant Prince's caravan had been set upon by the khal and his outriders just outside of Qohor, they were mounted and wielded curved arakhs, the slave soldiers taken by the caravan stood no chance as they were run down in a single charge. Afterwards, the Dothraki set about killing as many men as they could, raping as many women as they could and enslaving as many children as they could. Alyna among them. The Targaryen was fortunate enough to escape the first wave of rapers, but she knew that the misfortune would not escape her for long. She knew that she would either be taken for a wife by one of the khal's riders or sold as a slave to serve in Meereen, Yunkai or Astapor. The three open wounds of Essos.

Alyna didn't know which was worse, to be forced into yet another unwanted marriage which would likely be worse that what she would have had to endure with the Archon, or to be sold as a slave in Slaver's Bay to which she could end up in the pleasure houses where she too would endure a life of hardships. I should have never left Braavos, she told herself over and over, somehow hoping that repeating the mantra would take her back to that fateful day in which she journeyed off from the Sealord's Palace. She kept on thinking about what would have happened had she been stopped by the civic guard, had she just had a chance to think out exactly what she was doing. If Alyna could have one thing in the world, it would be to see the comforting lights of the Sealord's Palace once more.

_"What kind of Andal has white hair?"_ one of the Dothraki riding beside Alyna said as he glanced thoughtfully towards _the whip_. He prodded her with the point of his blade, her skin turned red as the blood pooled at the point. Alyna tried to reject him but there was nothing she could do but stand there and take the ridicule. _"She might have seen a ghost,"_ another one of the khal's bloodriders said, _the arakh_. _"Or maybe she is a witch,"_ perched in _the bow_. Alyna stood there in silence, not knowing what to do or say, and not understanding the harsh words of the men around her.

It was a few days later when the khalasar had reached Meereen. Alyna and her fellow group of slaves had been dragged through the busy streets of Meereen by some of the riders of the Great Khal. They had been caged like exotic birds of the Summer Isles, they had been prodded and examined by strange men with Ghiscari growl as men and women with strange hair and wearing peculiar tokars examined her greasy and dirty locks of silver-golden hair and her sand-scratched skin. It wasn't long before the slaves gathered by Khal Tommo were herded into a tight fitted cage taken to the flesh markets.

Alyna and her fellow slaves had been rotting in the sun for a day and half before a buyer finally came forth from the crowds willing to buy them. She was a thin woman robed in a thick cloak that left nothing but her hands exposed to the elements, she donned a red lacquered mask and her eyes were made of dark pools of fire. Alyna noticed that the woman had rarely taken her eyes off of herself, a sharp chill ran down her spine each and every time they made eye contact. The Targaryen eyed the woman handing the lumbering Dothraki rider a handful of gems and gold — enough to buy a small army of decent horses for the khalasar. The man took off without so much as a look back at the cage filled with men, women and children he had just sold into an undetermined fate.

_"Don't worry, you will be safe with me, princess,"_ the woman said with a dull voice with no emotion, she spoke the common tongue but the accent of the Asshai'i was clear and present. The woman attached the cage to a cart towed by two great oxen, and with a sharp whip the beasts were headed for the docks.


	5. By the Shadow p.1

_"Bring me some wine,"_ barked the captain of the great cog _the Ballahou_. It was a magnificent ship, assembled on the deep shores of the Koj in the Summer Isles, it had epic sails that truly suited the nickname of a swan ship. Its great sails were a blessing for the ship's crew as it allowed the vessel to soar across the waves with little need for much rowing by the oarsmen. Well, the slaves. The actual crew was made of drunken pirates who cared little for the art of sailing, they always had heavy pockets and full bellies but plundered and slaved all the same... greed was their only motivator.

Alyna hadn't had much interaction with the crew, but their accents and names let her know that almost all of them came from the corsair-infested Basilisk Isles of Sothoryos. The Targaryen pondered her current situation as she poured wine for Captain Hyrmon — he was a tall man, of lean build with hair and eyes as black as coal. He was never without a sword by his side and he kept strange and exotic birds in gilded cages, they mimicked his speech and so his humiliating remarks felt even more degrading.

_"Yes, my lord,"_ Alyna said as she finished pouring the drink, a dark wine from the Arbor in Westeros. The finest wine anywhere in the world, even Dornish wine couldn't compare to a fine and aged Arbor Red. It was a smooth pour and the goblet shone in the candlelight, Alyna brought the drink to Hyrmon and as a gift she received a lustful stare from the man before she was dismissed to return below deck. The Targaryen had been enjoying special privileges during her time as a slave, mainly just being able to be on-deck for a few more hours compared to her peers who were trapped below-deck for all but one hour every day. They were bound and held in chains and shackles, their wrists were raw and their faces bloody — the men fit enough to ride and fight were chained excessively, Dothraki Screamers were dangerous cargo for slavers and so every precaution was taken to prevent a slave revolt.

There was a century of Dothraki slaves beneath the deck, there were slaves from Lys and Myr among them that were taken from the Merchant Prince's caravan near Qohor. There was about thirty true warriors among them, and the rest were elders of a long fallen khalasar, some were bedslaves and handmaidens and scribes. One man, an elderly man of seventy and six named _Jhaga_ had begun to teach Alyna the harsh and guttural Dothraki tongue ever since they had left Meereen and set sail. He claimed to have been taught the common tongue of the Seven Kingdoms from a man who could change his face like clothes, and he said he had once seen a land where the sun never rose. Alyna wasn't sure whether or not she believed his tall tales or not.

The Ballahou rocked back and forth and the Dothraki shivered in their chains, the rattle of shackles and clanks of collars made Alyna feel as though she was going to break down. How did I get here? she asked herself almost every few minutes, she wishes she could have taken it all back and stayed in Braavos where she belonged. She wishes she could have just gone through with her betrothal to the Archon of Tyrosh and served her duty to the city which had shielded her all her life. But there was no time for tears now.

Alyna had constantly thought back to queer woman whom had bought her, along with the rest of the slaves currently on the ship, back in the Meereenese flesh markets. She had also paid for their transport across the Jade Sea and into the Further East — some of the Lyseni claimed they would be taken to Yi-Ti, some claimed Qarth was their destination, but Jhaga had refuted both of those claims. He had told Alyna that their destination was surely none other that Asshai By the Shadow. He claimed to have concluded as much by the appearance of the woman who bought them, she was a woman of the Shadow Lands which sat just a few leagues above Asshai. Jhaga had told Alyna all about Asshai and the Shadow Lands, he had said that there grew pale stalks of milky ghost grass that would one day spread across of the world and consume all life.

He had told her that Asshai was a fowl den and sanctuary for sorcerers, necromancers, torturers, rapers, witches, warlocks, moonsingers, fire mages, blood mages, maegi and many, many more dark arts and cast out practices were welcomed in Asshai. They practiced dark arts and worshipped even darker gods, the Asshai'i could end a man's life half a world away if they so pleased. It was said that demons and dragons and worse made their lairs in the rocky mountains that were trapped in an eternal darkness. Alyna had no idea what to make of all the speculation and theories, she was forcefully returned to her chains and took a seat beside the elderly Jhaga — she rested a head on his shoulder, and the steady rocking of the ship began to put her to sleep.

_"Alyna..."_ called a hushed and whispering voice. "Alyna..." it came again, slightly louder but keeping its hushed tone. The Targaryen woke, gazing around the slave's hold to see all of the Dothraki sound asleep with just a few muttering coming from the deck as seamen kept the ship in working order. _"Who is there?"_ replied the pale girl as she looked around the hold, her torn clothes let a cold breeze reach her skin. "Who is there?" she asked, the voice she had heard had a strange familiarity too it.

_"Old powers are awakening. To go west, you must go east. To journey west, you must journey south. To touch the light, you must pass beneath the shadow..."_ the voice said, its voice was feminine with a certain velvet to its words. She spoke in the common tongue, she spoke in riddles and Alyna wasn't sure what to make of it.

_"Who are you, please? Show yourself to me,"_ Alyna said as she strained her eyes in the darkness, hoping to see some kind of movement in the muddled pool of black and brown. _"If you bring me a warning speak plainly. Please, I don't understand..."_ the flaxen-haired princess said in a hushed voice, but to no reply... the presence had gone and the voice with it. She once again felt the suffocating loneliness of being the only one awake, and a blanket of silence fell across the hold...


End file.
